


I Gave You My Heart (Last Christmas)

by chicklette



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, M/M, My brain is weird, kind of a ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 11:56:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8799919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette
Summary: Inspired by Wham(!)'s Last Christmas. Harry and Draco get together but then Draco is an arse and Harry hates him all over again and wtf is going on anyway?





	

**Author's Note:**

> I had a long drive and that song kept playing on the radio. So this happened. Sorrynotsorry.

I solemnly swear that I am up to no good….

At the First Anniversary Memorial Ceremony in Recognition for the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry Potter was nowhere to be found.

At the First Annual Hogwarts War Orphans Memorial Christmas Gala, he drank himself into a slurring mess before starters, and had to be side-alonged away by Hermione Granger.

At the second, third and fourth year events for each, Harry Potter was conspicuously absent. 

At the Fifth Annual Hogwarts War Orphans Memorial Christmas Gala, Harry Potter arrived looking like sin in dark blue Auror-in-training robes. He spoke briefly, but was mostly seen sipping champagne in the corner and chuckling at something that the Dragon Ginger said.  
If Draco didn’t know better, he’d say Harry was flirting.

At the Sixth Anniversary Memorial Ceremony in Recognition for the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco was caught staring at Potter no less than four separate times. Potter, however, was caught staring at him no less than five. It wasn’t new for either of them. They’d made tentative peace with one another, seeing each other frequently at the Ministry. Draco came to understand that Harry actually detested his fame and popularity, and perhaps wasn’t the diva that Draco had made him out to be, and Harry seemed to respect that Draco was more interested in excelling at his job as potions master than he was in being smugly superior to everyone. The mutual eye-fucking was seen by most who’d know them as children as a matter of course. 

However, it wasn’t until the Governor’s Reception Prior to the Sixth Annual Hogwarts War Orphans Memorial Christmas Gala that everything went a bit pear-shaped, so that is where our story truly begins.  
.

“Don’t look now, darling,” Blaise drawled, “but I do believe Harry Potter is staring at you. Again.”

Draco turned toward Blaise and smirked before lifting surveying the ballroom. There was garland laced with fairy lights, and tiny enchanted stars danced across the ceiling. The Poinsettias were charmed to sway in time with the music, and in a particularly neat bit of wand work, someone had coaxed the holly to grow rumballs instead of berries. 

Allowing his gaze to drift to the bar, he watched Harry Potter, who was camped out with an annoying assortment of Gryffindors and gingers. The Dragon Ginger (and only fit one, as far as Draco was concerned), had his hand on Harry’s sleeve. And if Draco had thought that Potter looked good in the dark blue Auror-in-training uniform, he was quite unprepared for how good Potter looked in Auror red. Crimson. Scarlet? Whichever. He looked bloody fantastic.

Draco swallowed what was left in his glass and stood. “I’m off for a refill. Can I bring you anything?”

“Hmmm…shall I join you?” Blaise asked.

“Certainly not.” Draco had every intention of getting just a bit closer to Potter, and Blaise, Merlin love him, would only get in the way.  
By the time he arrived at the bar, most of the gingers had left to take their seats. Draco nodded at Potter, and Potter nodded back. Feeling quite daring, Draco took it one step further. 

“Good evening, Potter,” he murmured.

Harry gave him a speculative look. “Malfoy. You look…good. Well.”

Draco arched a brow. “You’re looking rather well, yourself.”

At that, Potter’s cheeks flushed and Draco gave him his full attention.

“Enjoying the Aurors?”

Harry’s eyes brightened. “I am, yeah. You? Heard you’re the new Head Potions Master for the DMLE.”

“I can’t complain. The work is challenging and my staff competent.”

Harry smiled. “Glad you’re liking it,” he said, and Draco found him to be staring again.

“They’re bespoke.”

“I’m sorry?” Harry said, looking up from Draco’s chest.

“My robes. They’re bespoke. That’s why the lines lay so neatly. I noticed you looking.”

Potter colored again, and Draco was finding it hard to look away from an open, blushing Harry Potter. “I guess I should look into that,” Potter said, plucking at his own robes.

“Hmmm,” Draco replied, stepped closer to Potter. He ran his hand over Potter’s side, easing the fabric back and whispering a quick charm. Potter was warm and firm beneath his robes, and Draco took his time. Potter stiffened at the first touch, but Draco whispered a low “trust me,” and Potter, incredibly, relaxed. 

Draco stepped behind Potter and ran his hands over Potter’s shoulders, again whispering the fabric into place. Simpering Salazar, his shoulders were broad and strong. Brushing the back of Potter’s neck with a finger, he noted that Potter’s small shiver was matched by his own. He came around to Potter’s front, tugging at his collar and leaning in close. 

“Tam Idonius,” he said, his voice low, and then stepped back. Potter smelled gorgeous – leather and soap and something so masculine; it made Draco’s mouth water.

“It’s just a few tailoring charms,” Draco said. “They should hold through the night, but you’ll need to see someone for anything permanent.”

Potter looked down at his robes and ran a hand over his sleeve. When he looked back up at Draco, his eyes were dark. He licked his bottom lip and stared at Draco’s mouth. It shot a thrill up Draco’s spine. “That was – thank you.”

Draco leaned closer, putting his hand at the small of Potter’s back. “If you’d like to drop by my flat later, I’d be happy to refer you to my tailor.” He heard Potter swallow.

“Yeah,” Potter said, his voice having gone breathy. “I think I would like that.”

Draco pressed a calling card with his Floo address into Potter’s hand. “Then maybe I’ll see you later,” Draco said, before stepping away from Potter and returning to his seat.

“Tailoring charms?” Blaise asked with an arch of his brow. Draco nodded. “You’re too clever by half. Tell me, is Auror Potter quite as fit as his robes make him out to be?”

Draco took a long sip from his fresh Martini. “My lips are sealed. And so is my Floo this evening, so don’t even think about stumbling through.”

Blaise’s eyes sparkled. “Oh my. Maybe I’ll firecall Pansy later. She can’t be with her Beater all night, right? What on earth would they talk about?”

Draco sniggered. “I don’t think talking is on the menu. Just like it’s not on mine. I mean it Blaise, no popping in tonight.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, darling. But do expect me for brunch. I’m afraid I’m going to need rather a lot of details on this one.”

“Slag.”

“You love me,” he said, fluttering his lashes. 

Draco smirked and Kingsley Shacklebolt cast a sonorous and called the room to order. The program was long and dull, mostly Ministry staff congratulating themselves and one another on yet another year with no rising Dark Lord. 

Still, as Draco toyed with his wineglass, he couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking toward Potter every few minutes or so. 

Potter was almost always looking back.  
.

“Sweet buggering fuck,” Draco moaned, rolling over and stretching. Late morning sunlight filtered through his curtains as he smiled to himself, remembering the night before. As if on cue, his Floo rumbled with the arrival of a guest.

“I’ll be in the shower,” he called behind himself as he entered the en suite. He’d just started the tap when there was a light knock at his bathroom door. He yelped as the door opened, eyes widening in surprise as a wand was leveled at his face.

“I’m sorry, darling, but you will thank me for this one day.”

“Wha-“

“Obliviate.”

.

At the Sixth Annual Hogwarts War Orphans Memorial Christmas Gala, Draco ran late. He’d spent the morning in a fog, trying to cut through the haze of the previous evening’s fairy-made wine that had left him feeling muzzy and strange. The last thing he remembered was emptying his glass, setting the lights low, and surrendering himself to his favorite toy and his fantasies of Potter. Potter, who looked unfairly good in Auror robes and who Draco had wanted since fifth year, maybe earlier. The evening had been an awful bore, but the Governor’s Reception prior to the Annual Hogwarts War Orphans Memorial Christmas Gala always was. 

Still it was odd – the only thing he could recall was dry roast beef, waxy mashed potatoes and the flask of fairy-made wine that Blaise pulled from his vest halfway through starters. He hardly remembered waking up that morning, instead coming to awareness in his shower, as the water began to chill. 

Blaise and Pansy were in his sitting room, nibbling on scones and chasing their respective hangovers off with champagne. They’d taken one look at him and made their excuses, each with a kiss to his cheek and a “see you tonight, darling,” as they stepped into the Floo. For his part, Draco’d felt exhausted all day, and the soreness in his arse meant that he’d probably stayed up far too late and been a bit rougher with himself than was strictly necessary. He’d spelled away most of the tenderness, but he still sat a bit uneasy in his charcoal robes. The Christmas Gala was the last place he wanted to be.

“Didn’t we do this last night?” he asked, taking his seat next to Blaise. 

“You lot did,” said Pansy, “but some of us had better plans.”

“Plans that included a certain Hollyhead Harpies Beater?” Blaise asked.

“Pansy, darling, I do believe Blaise is jealous!” 

Blaise laughed. “Hardly! Though it was a waste of the fairy-made wine. I wouldn’t have brought it if I’d known you weren’t going to be here, Pans.”

Pansy arched a brow. The last time the three of them had gotten drunk on fairy-made wine, Draco had woken up in a tangle of Pansy and Blaise, every part of him aching, but feeling oddly sated. It had been a few months after the final battle, and the look in Pansy’s eyes as she’d watched Draco that morning convinced him that their trysting shouldn’t happen again. Pansy had been in love with Blaise since fourth year, and almost everything she’d done since was with the hope that Blaise would open his eyes and finally see her, waiting for him. 

“So sorry to disappoint,” said Pansy, meaning just the opposite. “Darling,” she said, turning to Draco. “Be a doll and fetch me a drink?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course, highness.”

He rose and Blaise followed, keeping close to him as he went to the bar.

“Why on earth do we do this two nights in a row?” Draco asked. He imagined he wasn’t the only one feeling the after effects of the previous evening.

“So that we can feel both terribly smug about working for the ministry and terribly smug about giving generously to the cause. What’ll you have?”

“Definitely no Fairy wine. Seltzer with a twist, I think.”

Blaise arched a brow. “Someone’s still feeling last night, hmm?”

Draco rolled his eyes, but wished he’d taken a Pepper-Up, nevertheless.

“No sign of the savior,” Blaise said, his hand at the small of Draco’s back. “Oh, wait a moment. Don’t look now, but he’s rather staring at you, Draco. Shall we flirt outrageously? Give us a laugh before you peek.”

Draco’s eyes flicked to Potter’s a moment before he grinned, and then laughed, turning to look at Blaise. He knew that the two of them looked as though they were sharing the funniest in-joke of all time.

“Still looking?” Draco asked, looking up into Blaise’s eyes.

“Mmmm,” he said, looking down with a coy smile. “Hand on your bum?”

“Of course,” Draco said. He and Blaise had perfected their flirting, are-they, aren’t-they technique for pulling in the London clubs. Blaise, with his light brown skin and wicked smile was a perfect foil for Malfoy’s pale good looks. It was difficult not to watch the two of them together, and Draco rather desperately wanted Potter watching. Looking could lead to wanting, and wanting could lead to the fulltime retirement of Draco’s favorite toy.

However, when Draco finally turned to look at Potter, he found the man staring, slack-jawed, and looking for all the world like someone had kicked his kneazle. Draco cocked his head in curiosity but then Blaise was whispering about McLaggan’s kilt and Draco couldn’t help the laugh that left his lips.

Moments later they were ushered to their seats, and despite his best efforts, Draco couldn’t seem to catch Potter’s eye again.

When it was finally time for Potter’s speech, Draco turned and gave his full attention. He mumbled through the opening, the pallor of his skin in sharp contrast to his dark red robes. As he started in on remarks about family and community, he looked up at Draco. Draco pulled his coolest face, not wanting Potter to see how closely he was watching him.

Potter looked for a moment like he was going to sick up, then shook his head.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”

It seemed to Draco that it took Potter three steps to reach the foyer and Apparate. Maybe less.  
Draco hardly noticed when Hermione Granger took over, reading Potter’s speech from cue cards.  
.

At the Sixth Annual Anniversary Memorial Ceremony in Recognition for the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry Potter looked fantastic. 

“Close your mouth, darling,” Pansy said. “You’ll attract flies.”

“I’d like to attract him,” Draco said, not quite able to stop staring. 

Potter arrived on the arm of the Dragon Ginger, looking powerful and dangerous and just Draco’s type. It was a foregone conclusion that tonight would be the night that Draco tried to pull, Dragon Ginger be damned.

Draco saw his chance when Potter was at the bar, blessedly alone. Draco sidled up and requested a martini. 

Turning to Potter, he said, “Those robes look fantastic on you, Potter. Are they bespoke?”

He had hoped for a smile, or even a thank you. What he got instead was a cold, hate-filled gaze.

“Fuck off, Malfoy.”

Potter stalked away, leaving his fresh glass of whiskey on the bar, and a baffled Draco Malfoy in his wake.

Draco had spent the last few months pondering Harry Potter. Which was different from his usual, which was fantasizing about Harry Potter. 

Fantasizing about Potter was something that Draco excelled at, and to be honest, probably his longest, dearest pastime. They typically involved Potter or Draco spread out on Draco’s bed, and Potter fucking him through the mattress. Lately though, the fantasies had taken on a different texture. Instead of vague images, Draco found himself lingering on small details. The stretch of Potter’s lips around Draco’s cock. The way Potter’s hair smelled as he worried a love-bite into Draco’s neck. The huff of his breath across Draco’s lips, and the taste of his mouth, whiskey-tinged and smoky. The way Potter sounds when he comes. Worst though, and the one that Draco understands the least, are the fantasies where they would…cuddle. Potter as a human blanket, warm and soft, wrapping around Draco in a way that makes Draco wish that it would never end. A way that made him sometimes ache. 

Yet every time that he managed to catch Potter’s eye in the last six months, the glare he received was enough to make him shiver. Draco wasn’t sure what he’d done to offend. Up until recently, he and Potter had enjoyed a passing acquaintance. Potter no longer reached for his wand when Draco came into view, and Draco no longer felt the flare of irritation at Potter’s every move. They’d even taken to nodding at one another on the lift.

And now, the colder that Potter seemed to be toward Draco, the more determined he was to understand why. Which is why Draco was watching when Potter slipped into a corner of the room, then cast a disillusionment charm on himself. If Draco hadn’t been looking directly at Potter, the Boy-Who-Everything’d would have been able to slip out onto the balcony unnoticed. The Dragon Ginger was still at their table, laughing with his other gingers and generally ignoring the fact that his date had gone missing. Steeling himself, Draco followed Potter outside. One way or another, he was going to get to the bottom of Potter’s bizarre behavior.

It was a lovely May evening with a slight chill to the air. Draco cast a mild warming charm on himself and looked around. At the sound of his words, Potter turned, then grimaced. He backed further toward the edge of the balcony, standing between two large potted plants. Draco walked straight past him to gaze out at the city beneath them.

“Good evening, Potter,” Draco said, taking a moment to lean over the railing. The Ministry ball room overlooked the heart of London, and Draco admired the view of London below.

“Go to hell, Malfoy.”

“See,” he said, “this is what I don’t understand. We work in the same building, we attend the same functions, but as a general rule, you act as though you hate me. And I can’t for the life of me figure out why.”

Potter gaped at him a moment before waving away the disillusionment charm. “Unbelievable. Just stay the fuck away from me.”

Before Draco could formulate a response, Potter had walked away, leaving Draco feeling hurt and oddly bereft.

When he reentered the ballroom, it was to the steely stares of the entire Ginger clan. One look from the Dragon Ginger left Draco feeling very small indeed.

Feeling ill, Draco headed to the loo, eager to get out of sight, at least for a few minutes. He was in a stall, knees on his elbows, trying to quell the feeling of absolute loss that took over whenever he thought of Potter. After a few moments of deep breaths and a bit of cool water on the back of his neck, Draco felt ready to face this newest challenge head-on. 

Yes, it was true that Draco had supported Voldemort. It was further true that he’d taken the Dark Mark, and had let Deatheaters into Hogwarts. Yet, it was also true that he had lied to old Snakeface himself, buying Potter and his lot time to escape, and it was true that he’d allowed Potter to disarm him and make off with Draco’s wand, thereby defeating said Snakeface once and for all.

Besides, he’d apologized properly to Potter, Granger, and the passel of gingers years ago. And up until just last year, while they hadn’t been on friendly terms, they certainly didn’t seem as though they were itching to hex him. Several of them, including the Girl Ginger, had stopped by to congratulate him when he’d been made Head Potions Master. The whole thing was rather baffling.

Thus, Draco had dressed carefully for the evening, in dark gray formal robes and a blue collared shirt that flattered his complexion and his eyes. Potter might not want Draco the way that Draco wanted him, but Draco was certainly going to give him pause in making that decision.

When Potter and his usual crowd of Gingers mobbed the bar, Draco watched. He watched enough to notice that Potter never once looked his way, but that several of the Gingers had, and that once or twice, after looking at Draco, they whispered something to Potter. What Draco wouldn’t give for an extendable ear.

Finally, Potter seemed to shake them off, stalking once again toward the balcony. Halfway across the room, he turned, looked at Draco, raised his brows, and then continued toward his destination. 

“Pansy,” Draco said, leaning close. “Be a darling and distract Blaise, would you?”

“Whatever for?”

“I’ve something fairly urgent to discuss with Potter.”

Pansy cocked a smirk and rolled her eyes. “When he hexes you into the new year, don’t come crying to me.”

“Don’t worry,” Draco said, kissing her on the cheek. “I shan’t.”

Draco rose and followed Potter out to the balcony. It was a bit colder than the night before, and Draco had barely gotten the warming charm out of his mouth before Potter was there behind him, wand to his neck and an Expelliarmus on his lips.

Clutching Draco’s wand, Potter shoved him away. Draco stumbled toward the balcony, catching himself on the rail before turning back toward Potter.

“What the fuck is your problem, Potter?”

“You! You are my problem. Everywhere I go, you’re there, watching me. I want you to fucking stop.”

Draco felt ill. Yes, he’d been pining for Potter since Merlin knows how long. He’d never realized that Potter had noticed. Draco was mortified.

“I’ve done no such thing. Now unhand my wand.” Draco held his hand out and put on his best sneer.

“No chance,” Potter said, shaking his head. “Look, you and your friends want to have a laugh over what a sucker I am, that’s fine, Malfoy. You’ve shown me what you’re made of. I was an idiot to think-.” Potter stopped and shook his head. “Just stay the fuck away from me. Stop looking at me, stop looking at my friends, stop showing up in my lift, just fucking stop.”

Fighting the urge to cringe, Draco drew himself up further. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. You realize we work in the same building, yes? It stands to reason we might run into each other now and again. Really, Potter,” he said, the heart of what Potter was getting at finally sinking in. “I had no idea you were so offended by my mere existence.”

“Yeah, Malfoy,” Potter snarled. “It’s your existence that’s bothering me. Pull the other one.”

Feeling his temper flare, Draco pressed his lips together, reigning it in. After a deep breath, he brought himself to look Potter in the eye. “I don’t understand why you’re so angry at me. I’ve hardly spoken to you since the day you returned my wand. Now if you don’t mind,” he said, holding his hand out once again.

Potter stared at him for a moment, then sagged a bit. His fire seemed to flicker and then fade. “If you want to pretend it didn’t happen, that’s fine. But you don’t get to do that and then look at me the way you do.” Potter sighed and looked at his feet. “So please, just stop.”

Draco felt his emotions warring with him. He hated seeing Potter looking so defeated. Hated the droop to the line of his shoulders. At the same time, he had no idea what Potter was on about. He was torn between wanting to comfort him and slap him. If he was being honest with himself, he sort of wanted to do both.

“Pretend what didn’t happen?” he said instead. “I’m still not sure what you’re talking about. I thought we were, well, not becoming friends, but becoming not enemies. I thought we were doing that.”

“And I thought we were becoming lovers, until you threw it all in my face. I told you I don’t do one-offs. Christ, the way you and Zabini laughed at me. Do you have any idea what that felt like? No matter what you think about me, I didn’t deserve that, Draco. No one would.”

Lovers. Lovers. Draco took a step back, hand to his chest. Why would he say they were lovers? What could he-? An image of Potter flashed in his mind then, his eyes soft and earnest, peeking up at him from behind dark lashes, a shy smile on his lips. Draco’s heart felt like it was expanding and breaking, all at once, and he reached for the railing of the balcony. He felt like he was about to fly apart.

“Are you saying that we – that we?”

Taking another step away, Potter gave him a wary look. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t remember it? Draco, I watched you drink the Sober Up, I know you weren’t drunk.”

Draco fought with his mind, pulling up all those new fantasies of Potter, thinking about the way he smelled, how he’d sounded, the new texture to his dreams that had never been there before. Potter tasting like whiskey and smoke.

“The last Governor’s Reception,” he said, his mind frantic.

“I thought you didn’t remember,” Harry said, his voice soft.

Breathing deep, Draco forced himself to look Potter in the eye. “I don’t. But I’ve been  
having…dreams. Since then. About you.”

Potter came close, close enough for Draco to smell him, leather and soap, just like he’d imagined. 

“Legelimens,” Potter hissed, and Draco felt the hot, sudden intrusion into his mind.

“Occlumens,” Draco shouted, holding up his hand and turning away. He felt the intruder shoved out.

“Just what I thought,” Potter said. “Quit trying to play me, Malfoy. We’re done here.”

“Wait!” Draco reached out and grabbed Potter’s robes. “You can’t just do that, Potter. Merlin!” Draco stood straighter, closed his eyes. “Legelimens” he whispered, and reached out for Potter’s hand.

“Legelimens.”

Draco pushed that night to the forefront of his mind. The way he’d selected his robes, picking them up from the tailor that morning, noting how they fit him just so. The glimpse of Harry that he’d caught, the way that he’d hoped Potter might notice him back. The fairy-made wine and the dry beef. A flash of Potter, eyes wide and staring as he moved over Draco. The ache in Draco’s head the next morning. The aches in his body. 

So many of the memories felt wrong. They felt one dimensional, like he was watching a movie of something, not remembering it. Draco gasped.

“Finite,” Potter whispered. 

Draco looked at him with wide eyes. 

“You’ve been Obliviated,” Potter said. “Hermione – we need to find her.” Potter drew Draco in against his side. Though Draco was taller, Potter was broader and Draco felt inexplicably safe. “Will you come back to mine?” Potter asked, his voice filled with concern. “I don’t think you’re safe alone.”

“My friends,” Draco said, pausing.

“Please, Draco.” Potter’s voice was soft, but the grip he had on Draco’s arm wasn’t. He watched as Potter’s eyes swept the balcony, then flicked back to the door. “Take this” he said, offering Draco’s wand up to him. 

“Okay,” Draco said, taking back his wand. “Let me just tell-”

“Now, Draco. We have to go now.” Draco could feel Potter’s urgency. It reminded Draco of the final battle, the way Potter was so self-sure and ready for anything. 

“But the wards-”

Potter looked down at him with grim determination. “Fuck the wards.”

With that, he turned on heel and twisted, and Draco felt the wards clawing at them, then the hook behind his navel, and all the while, Harry Potter, holding him close.

“You apparated out of the Ministry,” Draco said, feeling dazed by Potter’s power. He took a moment to look around himself. Potter’s flat was cozy. There was an overstuffed couch and chair, a simple coffee table with clean lines that held a couple of books and a half-empty teacup. There were some gorgeous landscapes on the walls. It looked comfortable and lived in. Draco found himself swaying a bit on his feet.

“Let’s set you down,” Harry said, and eased Draco down onto the couch. “Expecto Patronum!”  
A brilliant, silver stag shot out of Potter’s wand. Potter muttered something under his breath, and the stag took off.

.  
By the time Granger and Weasley arrived, Draco was huddled to one side of the sofa, a cup of tea laced with firewhiskey in his hand. 

Hermione Granger stepped out of the Floo looking absolutely beautiful. Her long brown hair was piled into a glamorous chignon, revealing an elegant neck and milky skin set off by the deep rose dress she wore. How Weasley had ever snagged her – and kept her – would forever remain a mystery to Draco. Weasley looked well enough in his dress robes, but Granger simply shone.

“Bloody hell,” Weasley said. “What’s the ferret doing here?” 

Potter shot Weasley a look and the ginger had the good grace to look abashed.

“He’s been obliviated,” Potter said, cutting right to the chase. 

Hermione looked startled. “Is that-”

“Yeah, the memories of that night are all a plant.”

“Well that explains a bit. Draco, do you remember anything at all unusual from the next day?”

Draco shook his head. “I felt unreasonably hung over. Was that a side effect?”

“Usually, yes. Did you see anyone that morning?”

Draco thought back. “Just Blaise and Pansy. They came for brunch.”

“Hmmm.”

“Neither of them would do this. They’re my friends.”

“No,” Hermione said. “I think we can rule them out for now. It’s more likely this has something to do with Harry.”

“Can you restore the memories?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know yet. I’ll have to look. Draco,” she said, her voice going soft. “Would you allow me to look at that night? I know it’s an intrusion, but I may be able to restore the real memories and remove the false ones.”

Draco nodded and looked at Potter. “See? This is how you go into someone’s head. With forewarning and permission.”

Potter rolled his eyes.

“Alright, Granger,” Draco said. “Please don’t poke about more than necessary, yeah?”

“I promise,” she said, and took his hand. “Legelimens.”

“Legelimens.”

Granger’s presence in his mind was soft, probing gently, but not pushing at anything she found. Draco summoned his memories of that night all over again and pushed them to the forefront of his mind. He was terrified of what she might find. His emotions about Potter were right at the surface, especially with the man himself standing right next to Draco. Would she tell him everything? How could he trust her?

With somethiling like a sigh, he felt Hermione withdraw. She looked at Draco for a long moment before speaking. “Harry and Ron, would you mind giving us a few moments alone?” 

“You sure?” Ron asked, and Hermione nodded, not taking her eyes from Draco’s face.

Once they left, she let go of his hand.

“I’m almost certain that I can remove the false memories and restore your real ones. Do you want me to try?” 

Draco hesitated. “I want my real memories back. I want to know who did this.” He let the unspoken but hang in the air.

“You’re worried about what I’ll see when I’m in there, is that it?”

Draco looked away and nodded.

“Harry’s told me a little bit about that night, Draco. I understand your reticence. I wouldn’t share anything that I see with Harry, you know that don’t you?”

“Why should I trust you? Why not go to a healer?”

Hermione drew away, and began to pace. “You can, absolutely. But I have a good deal of experience with both casting and removing memory charms.”  
Draco thought back, and drew up short when he remembered. “Your parents.”

“Yes. It took several months to restore all of their memories, and even now, they still sometimes forget.”

Draco couldn’t imagine it. He might not see his mother as often as she’d wish, but her love for him was constant. To no longer have that support, and to know that he was the cause of it – it would be devastating.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said. “That must be very difficult.” 

“Thank you. It is, but, I guess I just want to assure you that even if I see things you wish I wouldn’t, I would never use that against you. Memories and private, and personal. I respect that, and I know how much Harry values privacy. Even if I wanted to share something, he’d never hear me out.”

“I – thank you, Hermione. I appreciate that.”

Hermione sat next to Draco. “I admit that I hope we discover who did this. If there’s a threat against Harry, I’d like to know about it.”

“But?”

“But Harry hasn’t quite been the same since that night. At the very least, you both need to understand why.” She held her hand out to Draco. “May I?”

Draco nodded and held out his hand. 

“Legelimens,” Hermione said.

“Legelimens,” Draco whispered.

.

It felt like days later when Hermione withdrew from his mind. At least one day later. The day.

Draco remembered all of it. Harry stumbling out of Draco’s Floo. Their nervous laughter as Draco poured them drinks, and their toast to London’s finest tailors. The way they’d edged closer to one another on the sofa in Draco’s flat. Harry’s pinky finger, reaching out to brush Draco’s. The first kiss – tentative, sweet, with Harry’s hand cupping Draco’s jaw and the feeling, gods, like he was something tender, precious to Harry. The ache that swelled under his chest at the earnest look in Harry’s eyes. 

“I need to know that we’re starting something here, Draco,” Harry’d said, leaning his forehead against Draco’s. “I’m not really a one-off kind of guy. I don’t think I could be, with you.”

“I want that,” Draco said, stealing a kiss. “I want to see where this goes.” It cost him, gods, how it cost him to be that open with his heart. But with Harry there, breathing the same air as him, how could he be anything else?

And then Harry had taken him to bed. When Draco had thought about it, and he had, quite often, he’d always imagined they would come together in a frenzy: passionate biting kisses, fingernails in skin, half fighting and snarling, half surrendering to the other. 

Instead, it had been tender, achingly sweet, with gentle kisses, teasing fingers, ghosting breaths, and soft gasps of surprise. Draco gone into it wanting to pull out all the stops, display every trick and tongue twist that he knew, anything to convince Harry to stay more than just one night. Instead he’d gotten lost, giving back what he got, asking for what he needed, taking Harry just as he was. He’d never been so open, and instead of feeling raw and exposed, he felt safe, secure that Harry wasn’t going to lead him anywhere he didn’t want to go. 

The second round, of course, found the two men much more wanton, and Draco expected some bruising of his fine skin, and not a little soreness in other places.  
It was the last round though that found Draco feeling far, far out of his depth. Each of them had been bleary eyed, waking from a few hours of sleep, Harry pressed against Draco’s back. “God, I have to have you again, Draco, please,” he’d whispered. Draco’d responded by pressing back, clutching Harry’s arm around his chest tighter, marveling at how they moved together – seamlessly bringing one another to completion. And then after, each of them drifting back to sleep, came the moment that stole Draco’s breath, filling him with hope and longing. 

“I could fall in love with you,” Harry’d whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the back of Draco’s neck. Draco had been balancing on the cusp of sleep and wakefulness, but Harry’s next words brought Draco fully awake. “I think I already may have done.” 

And then the morning after, the rumble of the Floo and those words, “you’ll thank me for this.” Draco’d felt the betrayal slice through him, hot and bitter. He wanted to murder his so-called friend. All this time, he could have had something beautiful, and someone had stolen that from him. He was furious. 

Draco sat on Harry’s sofa, tears staining his face, lost in the memories of that single day, when Harry knocked at the door frame. Hermione had had the good grace to leave Draco once she’d removed the false memories and the block that held the real ones in check, knowing Draco would need a moment to himself.

When Draco thought of that night, and the night that happened after – he and Blaise flirting, Draco having no idea how hurtful that would be to Harry. Gods, he’d been a bastard. 

“Alright?” Harry asked, and Draco only shook his head, still feeling dazed.

Harry sat next to Draco, taking one of Draco’s hands in his. Draco studied their hands together. Merlin, what Harry must have thought that next day. The cruelty made Draco wince.

“I’m so sorry,” Draco said. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you.”

Harry bowed his head. “I shouldn’t have given you up so easily. I should have known something was wrong.”

“You couldn’t have.” 

“You know who it was, then? Who obliviated you?”

Draco nodded. “Yes, and I’d like to press full charges. Care to make an arrest?”

.

Pansy Parkinson opened the door with her dressing gown falling down off one shoulder and a love-bite on her neck.

“Draco, darling!” she said, eyes widening as she took in Potter and Weasley behind him.

“Pans.” Draco’s tone was curt. 

“What’s going on?”

“Where is he?” Draco asked.

“Oi!” Blaise Zabini’s voice echoed down the hall and into the open doorway. “If it’s carolers, throw them a knut and be done with it.”

Pansy’s wide eyes never left Draco’s. She leaned against one side of the door frame, and reached her hand out to the other, blocking the entry. “It’s the Aurors, Blaise” Pansy called. “I believe they’re here to see you.”

Potter and Weasley pushed past Draco and Pansy, who followed close behind. They entered Blaise’s bedroom in time to see him reach for his wand.

“Incarcerous!” Potter yelled, and Blaise’s arms whipped behind him, his wand dropping to the Floor.

“None of that, now, Zabini,” Potter said, pulling Blaise up short. “You’re not going to want to struggle, either. My friend here,” he said, gesturing to Ron, “has a wicked temper, and he’s already put out about missing last night’s party.”

“Actually, Harry,” Ron started, then stopped when he saw the look on Potter’s face. “He’s right,” Ron said, taking Zabini from Potter. “I’m already in a right mood. You don’t want to try me.”

As Weasley turned Blaise around, Blaise caught Draco’s eye. 

“You know he’ll never love you, Draco. He’ll never forgive you for being who you are, for being marked.”

“How dare you,” Draco replied. “How dare you steal from me, steal that? You were my best friend.”

“But we could have been more. We should have. It was supposed to be the three of us, Draco. You, me and Pansy. We could have been so happy. Instead you want to throw it all away over this tosser.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re insane.”

“You’ll see, Draco. You’ll see.”

“He’s gone mad,” Draco said, eyes widening in wonder.

Harry came over and took Draco’s elbow, leaning close. “We can take this from here, but you’ll need to come in and give us a full statement. It can wait a day if you like. We have enough to hold him based on Hermione’s findings.”

“Hold him where? Draco, what is going on?” Pansy was watching him, watching Blaise, her face the picture of confusion.

Draco watched as Harry dragged away a bellowing Blaise. “He Obliviated me,” he told a questioning Pansy. “Come to mine, I’ll tell you what I know.”

.

In the end, Draco was able to piece together Blaise’s mad scheme. He’d thought that if Potter hated Draco, that Draco would give up on the idea of being with Potter, and in the end, would settle for a polyamorous relationship with Pansy and Blaise. Pansy was heartbroken, believing that Blaise really loved her; they’d been making a go of things for the last year, and Pansy was happier than Draco had ever seen her. Draco was devastated at losing a friend, but more so at the thought that he’d lost his chance with Harry. 

While the investigation and subsequent trial were underway, Harry explained that it would be inappropriate for them to engage in any sort of a romantic relationship. It was fine; Draco knew when someone was letting him down easy – he’d done the letting down often enough.  
Still, Draco saw Harry at the office, rushing about in his Auror robes, bringing criminals to justice. Once some of the more salacious details of his Obliviation came out, more than one bloke had stopped by Draco’s office, asking Draco to dinner, trying to cull more information, or maybe find out what Harry Potter was really like in bed.

Draco’d nearly been ill the first time that it happened. He declined all subsequent propositions. None of them could hold a candle to Harry, anyway.  
The trial eventually wrapped up and Blaise was sentenced to six months at Azkaban and five years’ probationary magic restrictions, which would leave him able to perform only rudimentary spells – nothing malicious or even overly ambitious could be performed with the magical muffling charms they’d placed on him. Draco’d sent an owl to Potter, Weasley and Granger, thanking them all for their help. He’d hoped for a response from Potter, but when none came, Draco knew it was done. For whatever reason, a second chance wasn’t in the offing. 

Thus, he arrived alone at the Seventh Annual Hogwarts War Orphans Memorial Christmas Gala, having skipped the Governor’s Ball the evening before. Pansy was dating a Hufflepuff that Draco found hard to stomach, so Draco’d chosen to go stag. It seemed Pansy found Draco’s company hard to stomach since Blaise’s trial, and he couldn’t really blame her for that. It’s one thing for your lover to be a bit mad, but it’s another for him to break your heart, pining over your best mate. They’d be fine, eventually, but for now, it was a rough bit of business. He missed her. Missed them both. 

Still, he’d no desire to watch Potter arrive on the arm of the Dragon Weasley again, to watch what might have been. Draco sometimes wondered whether he was better off like this – left with his memories instead of blissfully ignorant. He was on his second firewhiskey when the first Ginger made their way in, heading toward their usual table near the front of the room. Deciding not to torment himself more than necessary, he took himself and his third firewhiskey to the balcony.  
The December air was cold and Draco cast a heavy warming charm on himself. All of London appeared below, bustling shoppers, black cabs and holly wreaths hanging from the light poles. If a soft snow fell, Draco thought, it would be like a Christmas globe.

“I thought I’d find you out here.”

Draco startled and turned. There was Harry, looking incredible in formal dress robes. His dark hair was almost blue in fairly lights, and his eyes were all but unreadable. Draco gave him a soft smile.

“No Auror robes tonight?”

“I’m here as a civilian.”  
“Ah. Well, this,” Draco said, gesturing to Potter’s robes, “suits you very well.” He allowed a small smirk. “Bespoke robes, Potter? I hope Andreus didn’t take liberties during the fitting. I should have warned you about that.”

Harry chuckled and then peeked at Draco from under long, dark lashes. 

“You look good,” Harry said, and Draco’s stomach turned over. It would be so easy, too easy to get caught up in Potter again. He had to remind them both that Potter didn’t want him.

“I owled,” Draco said. “You didn’t reply.”

“Investigation didn’t officially close until last week.”

“Oh,” Draco said, his mind racing. He’d sent his owl three weeks ago, just after Blaise was sentenced. Did that mean…?

Harry stepped closer and took Draco by the elbow. In the brighter light, Draco could see every detail of Potter – the scar and the flop of hair he covered it with. His eyes. Harry searched Draco’s eyes for what felt like forever and Draco felt himself falling all over again. Eyes as green as grass, edged in olive, with flecks of orange. Draco knew those eyes, knew what it felt like to be pinned by that gaze and feel sweetness coming from them. 

“Can I-” Harry asked, tugging on Draco’s hand. “Draco, can we start over? I’d like to take you out, on a proper date, maybe do things right?” 

And there it was, the chance Draco had been longing for. What would it be like, having Potter pick him up at his flat, taking him on a date? Would he bring flowers, or gifts of woo as a proper wizard should? Would he court Draco? Did Draco want that? Could he risk his heart with Potter all over again?

“No,” Draco said, pulling back his hand, and then pressing himself flush against Harry. “I want to start right where we left off. I want to make up for lost time.”

He cupped his hands around Harry’s face, and gave him the kiss that he’d been saving, the one that was meant for Harry, and Harry alone. Harry gasped against his lips, and Draco wasted no time licking into Harry’s mouth. He tasted of whiskey and smoke, just like Draco remembered. One of them made a noise when Harry threaded his fingers through Draco’s hair. 

“I haven’t been able to get you out of my head,” Harry said, before tipping Draco’s head back to press open mouthed kisses against his throat. “God, Draco, I want you.” Another opened mouthed kiss, the smooth slide of their tongues together, and Draco was coming out of his skin. Harry started to pull away, break the kiss, and Draco followed, getting in one last nip before he opened his eyes.

“Let’s get out of here,” Harry said.

Draco smirked. “What about the wards?”

Harry smirked back. “Fuck the wards.”

As he leaned in for another kiss, Draco felt the tug and pull of apparition sweep him away. He opened his eyes when they landed, noticing that they were in his bedroom.

“Scene of the crime, Auror Potter?”

“In more ways than one,” Harry said, moving in for another kiss. What started out as tender and sweet became frenzied in moments. 

“Christ, the way you taste,” Harry said, his mouth against Draco’s collar bones. His fingers tugged at Draco’s buttons, pulling at his robes. “Off,” he whispered. “Get this off.”

Draco complied, pulling apart his clothes and then Harry’s, then walking them back toward the bed. He lay back, naked, opening himself to Harry. Harry crawled over him, pausing to run his hands up Draco’s legs, over the flat of his stomach, flicking at his nipples before threading his hands through Draco’s hair once more, holding him still for a brutal kiss.

He lowered himself onto Draco, pressing against him, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. His hands raced all over Draco’s body, pressing, pulling, feeling. His kisses were frantic, biting at Draco’s lips, sucking on his tongue. Harry flexed his hips, rubbing their cocks together and Draco moaned, pressing up. At this rate, it was going to be over so, so fast, and then Draco stopped.

“Harry.” Draco ran his hands across Harry’s shoulders, down his biceps. Harry was attacking Draco’s neck, licking and sucking in a way that made Draco tilt his head, even while he tried to get Harry to pause. “Harry, stop.” Fingertips that had once whispered prayers against his skin, now pushed bruises, cried out in need.

Draco sank his fingers into Harry’s hair and pulled. “Harry, stop.”

Harry pulled back, blinking, looking at Draco as though he’d only just realized where he was.

“I’m right here,” Draco said, tipping his head up to press a kiss at the corner of Harry’s mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Harry groaned and flopped onto his back, covering his eyes with his forearm. “I’m sorry.”

Draco rolled to his side, trailing his fingertips over Harry’s chest. There was a small patch of tangled, black hair at the center and Draco toyed with it, marveling that he was allowed to do so.

“I’ve felt really shitty for the last year, and one way or another, you’ve been at the heart of it,” Harry said.

“Gee, thanks.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Harry said, rolling toward Draco, meeting his eyes. “It’s just – all those years in school, hating you, wanting you, and if that wasn’t confusing enough there was the whole war. And then I thought you’d changed and then you showed you hadn’t and then that was a lie.” Harry searched Draco’s eyes. “I feel like you’re about to evaporate again.”

“Well,” Draco said, tucking a wisp of hair over his ear. “My beauty is ethereal, I’ll give you that.”

“Prat.”

“Wait – you wanted me back at Hogwarts?”

“Oh stop. You were gorgeous, everyone wanted you.”

Draco arched his brow. “Were?”

Harry leaned forward and kissed his lips. “Are. Still a git, too.”

Draco sighed and stretched, humming. “Harry Potter has a crush on me.”

A grin threatened at the corner of Harry’s mouth, but there questions in his eyes all the same. “I heard you went out with Geoff Davies,” Harry said.

And Merlin, was that was this was about? 

Draco studied the line on Harry’s neck where his skin went from pale to golden. 

“Have you ever been on a date that you didn’t know was a date?” Draco asked.

“What do you mean?”

“We were working on a project together – the one to infuse auror wands with protective charms, remember that one?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, we’d put in some late hours and when it was wrapping up, he asked me to come have a drink. I didn’t even know he was bent.”

“But you found out,” Harry said. It wasn’t a question.

Draco grimaced. He didn’t appreciate jealousy, but jealousy from Potter made him preen a bit.

“Yes, first he asked me about the obliviation, then wanted to know if the press had it right, then asked how you were in bed.” Draco watched as Harry’s eyes widened. 

“Of course I gave him all the gory details. Then we had a fantastic shag, right across the bar top in the Leaky.”

“Wanker.” Harry’s expression was inscrutable, and Draco knew – just knew – that with Harry it was going to have to be all or nothing. He was going to have to be either brave or incredibly stupid, because Harry wasn’t going to settle for less than everything from Draco.

And was it worth it? He swallowed against the flutter in his chest.

It had damn well better be.

Draco made himself meet Harry’s eyes. “He wasn’t my type,” Draco said. “He lacked that whole, ‘saving the world’ thing. I really go in for that, you know.” He leaned over to snatch a kiss.

“I didn’t,” Harry said, his eyes growing softer.

“Yes, well, it’s either that or taming dragons. I can’t quite get excited over anything else.” Draco watched Harry with wide, gray eyes. Harry either understood or he didn’t.

“There’s nothing there, you know,” Harry said. “Hasn’t been, not for a long time.”

Draco blinked and tried very hard not to spit Weasley’s name into a curse. “Does he know that?”

Harry nodded and Draco saw the understanding clear his eyes. “Yeah. Has for at least a year.”

Draco let loose the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. It was then that he realized what a catastrophically bad idea this could be. Harry had too much of him already, shining lights into all of Draco’s dark corners, leaving him nowhere to hide.

As if he could feel Draco’s skit, Harry reached out to cup Draco’s cheek. “No, don’t. Come on, Draco.”

Draco stared at the patch of hair on Harry’s chest. He reached out to touch it and felt Harry breathe deep. Maybe he could make a home there. Maybe Harry wouldn’t even notice.

Harry covered Draco’s hand with his own until Draco met his eyes. 

“Our friends won’t understand,” Draco said.

“Our friends love us. They want us to be happy.”

“Do you think we can be? We have so much history,” Draco said.

“Then let’s make more, Draco. Let’s make something new.”

Draco nodded, fighting the tremor he felt building in his body. 

“Just, come here,” Harry said, shifting closer to Draco, pulling their bodies flush. He feathered kisses across Draco’s cheeks, nose and eyelids. His fingertips stroked against Draco’s shoulder, down around his collarbones, lightly up his neck and then down his side. 

Draco reached for him then, his hand settling at Harry’s side, then lower, over the swell of his arse, rocking their groins together. He caught Harry’s bottom lip, pulling and sucking, tasting it with his tongue. Harry opened, and Draco pressed forward, pushing his weight against Harry while they kissed: long, slow kisses that were promises made of want.

His cock swelled against Harry’s side, and Harry reached for him, pushing himself back up, taking Draco in hand and bringing him alive. 

“We won’t be easy,” Draco said, before laving Harry’s throat with his tongue.

“Don’t want easy,” Harry said. “Just want you. This.”

The frenzy was building again, fingers that couldn’t get enough, skin that needed – needed – to be touched. And then Harry whispered into the air, and Draco felt the lubricating spell, felt Harry’s hand nudging his legs apart. 

“Dis-“ Draco began, ready for the stretching spell, but Harry pressed his fingers against Draco’s mouth. 

“No, I want to.”

Draco rolled onto his back and sucked Harry’s fingers in, impatient to feel them inside of him.

“Greedy,” Harry chuckled, but moved his hand down and began to stroke Draco open. It was good, and Draco responded, undulating against Harry’s hand, taking in one, then two, then three of Harry’s broad, thick fingers. It was good, but it wasn’t enough.

“I’m ready,” Draco gasped, then pushed Harry onto his back. He climbed over Harry, Harry with his prick in his hand, holding it steady for Draco’s use.

As he eased down, he felt it – the stretch that almost burned, the dull pain that made him want more. He sank down and let the fullness envelop him, taking Harry deeper and deeper, all the while marveling that there was another person inside of him – that Harry Potter was inside of him.

Harry put his hands on Draco’s thighs and began to rock, tiny thrusts that made Draco moan. 

“Harry, please. Please.”

His cock was hard and Harry gripped it, smearing the precum over the tip before giving it a few long, slow strokes.

“Draco, yes,” Harry said, his voice low and eyes heavy. Draco let him set the rhythm, grinding back down into Harry’s lap, feeling the push, again and again.

“Gods, you make me stupid,” he said, falling down over Harry. Harry thrust up, forcing a series of panting grunts from Draco, a sheen of sweat covering them both. Flipping them over, Harry pressed deeper into Draco as Draco wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist. Draco’s hand flew to his cock and he was torn between gripping it hard to stop himself from coming and stroking it hard to come that much faster.

Draco was frantic, babbling, losing his mind. His eyes saw Harry Potter and his body felt ecstatic as Harry pumped into him again and again.

“Draco, God, you’re beautiful. Perfect.”

“Harry, yes, please. All the way, you have to be all the way inside of me, Harry, please, please.”

“Christ, Draco.” Harry groaned and moved faster, thrusting deeper and Draco howled, reduced to panting moans as Harry struck Draco’s prostate again and again. 

Draco’s hand was still on his cock, he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe – there was nothing but Harry and the way he felt inside of Draco, his impending orgasm that was coming fast, so fast.

“Harry!” His eyes flew open and he was caught up in Harry’s eyes, the green there holding him, seeing him through his orgasm as it pulsed sticky and wet between them. 

“Oh, god, oh, god! Draco!” Harry dropped his head to Draco’s shoulder and came, his cock throbbing inside of Draco, leaving them both limp and sated. 

They lay together, each catching their breath, neither willing to move. 

“Christ, you’re a fantastic shag,” Harry said, before pressing a kiss against Draco’s pulse.

Draco laughed. “Yes, you’ll find I can lay there and take it with the best of them.” He winced a bit as Harry slipped out of him.

“Shut it,” Harry said, chuckling, before drawing back and looking into Draco’s eyes. “You’re perfect.”

Smiling, Draco leaned up and captured Harry’s lips with his. 

When they parted, Harry stared down at Draco, his eyes searching once again. “Are we doing this, then?”

Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. “I guess we better had. You’ve laid waste to my virtue, you know. Might as well see it through.”

Harry gave him a lopsided grin. “Your virtue, Draco? Really?”

Draco smiled, unable to keep the lightness in his heart from showing on his face. 

“Happy Christmas, Harry.”

“Happy Christmas, Draco.”

 

Mischief managed….


End file.
